


Bed of crimson joy

by Breakthefixed



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Asphyxiation, Biting, Bottom Hannibal, Canon-Typical Violence, Fucked up fantasies, Introspection, Kissing, M/M, Manipulation, Murder, Murder Husbands, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Top Will, this is just Will fucking Hannibal next to a corpse, will is a tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 02:18:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5894281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Breakthefixed/pseuds/Breakthefixed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>« I want you inside me, Will. » The voice, not anymore calm and controlled but hoarse because of the pleasure, fills the bedroom of the powerful French criminal with who they entered in contact months ago, the house, the whole city.</p><p>« Are you asking me to fuck you, or you want me to tie you to the bed and dissect you as I have just done with him? » Will pauses only to lick his lips, he brushes up against Hannibal one last time and « It would turn you on, right? » finishes, vaguely aroused whereas somebody with a moral compass would have been repulsed or however just a bit shaken. </p><p>« Yes, Will. One day we could even experiment both at the same time.  »</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bed of crimson joy

>   
>  _"O Rose thou art sick._  
>  The invisible worm,  
>  That flies in the night  
>  In the howling storm:  
>  Has found out thy bed  
>  Of crimson joy:  
>  And his dark secret love  
>  Does thy life destroy."  
>  (William Blake, "The Sick Rose")

A prolonged eye contact offers them a closeness that they have never found in the deepest kiss or in the most accurate ad select words that turn out to be unsuitting to truly describe a such ineffable and divine connection. 

Every time Will meets Hannibal's eyes, he's completely aware to be lingering right on the infernal abyss as of the risk that the latter could reciprocate the gaze, pushed by the same call. Neverthless apprehension, concern and aversion are the last sensations to which he is exposed, so he plummets with extreme celerity, descending deeper and deeper in the complete absence of light. Full of self-esteem and of gratitude for the monster who swallows and explores him totally. Crossing the abyss represents the creative destruction, prime for the radical passage from a mere human form of existence to a trascendental one.

Hannibal is often compared to a supermassive black hole that steers light and information depending on his own impenetrable criterion, invisible and noticeable only in the destructive effects on the surrounding universe. Everything or everybody approaching him gets caught for the rest of their days, without any possibility to excape because of his titanical force of attraction. Proceeding logically, Will should be anchored permanently to centre of the event horizon. But the truth couldn't be any different inasmuch both of them have beated the binary oppositions that the circumstances made them represent. There isn't an only hunter and an only prey anymore. Hannibal and Will are both two black holes that have been moving close to each other for the entire duration of their common past and now they can back out of each's gravity. Then they collide magnificently, sending impetuous waves for the whole fabric of their warped spacetime. Comsuming each other, they evolve in a bigger unity. They die of their violent passion and at the same time they thriumph, victorious. 

The one that looks away first is Hannibal. The iris, darker than usual, travel adoringly along the immaculate skin of Will's troath and stop on the collarbone uncovered on purpouse by the white ad gold shirt – exactly the same one Will wore the time that he screwed Hannibal without undressing himself – in order to show the fresh hickeys of the session of lazy sex occourred that morning. Will's collarbone is not the only visible point where that delicious colour contrast happens: big ruby-red stains stick out in the cloth of the shirt and both of his hands are adorned with burnt red. Hannibal doesn't found himself in very different conditions, even if slightly better than Will's ones. Signs of struggle alter the candid skin of their victim who lies on the bed tied and gagged.

White opposes again an orgy of warm red shades when Will devotes himself to this person, pushing the scalpel, in an unique rapid gesture inside the upper part of his chest, after he has extracted it from the front pocket of his trousers. Slowly, but with determination and ability, he opens the victim, avoiding to sink the metal deeper than he should. He doesn't want to ruin the main internal organs and therefore deprive him of the breath of life before the proper moment. 

As blood surfaces in copious gushes and bowels unveil themselves, the body under Will doesn't barely attempt to thrash about, preferring to devolve all of his remaining energies to search some oxygen with an almost primitive desperation. The portion of duct tape on his mouth denies him it right away. _That's not nearly enough._ The obvious thought, piercing Will's trasparent eyes, reaches Hannibal's mind, even before the scalpel is being pushed deeper with the mere purpouse of producing an opposite and equal reaction to the performed action. 

Only then, in front of the spasmodic but limited movements, the sound of pure pain emit against the gag and the vision of the blood expanding to the point of accumulating on the mattress, Will reveals a satisfaction that is both undoubtely authentic and simulated to tease further Hannibal. The latter, in fact, doesn't feel ignored as it could be to the mere appearence. On the contrary, Will is drawing him fully in his design as if the one is the most beautiful of the sculptures that dialogue with anybody that looks at it and the other who commissioned it to be its exclusive observer. 

For this reason, when Will turns towards him after dissecting the victim until the start of the pelvic region, the former therapist doesn't possess enough defences against the warm sensation that spreads at the lower abdomen and starts to pierce his fortress, triggering the violent conflict between the rational, artfully ordered and balanced part of the soul and the chaotic and savage essence. He takes a deep breath, remaining stoic as far as possible. 

« Is there something wrong, _my dear?_ » The innocence, almost sweet, permating Will's voice is betrayed by the manifest provocation and by the petty smile on his rosy lips. Hannibal has to stifle his desire of tearing it off with is teeth in that moment, giving rise to a series of reciprocal bites that will become always more violent, frequent and lower along their bodies. They will only stop when they will be compelled to vent their built up tension in a brutal sexual intercourse. 

It's therefore without uttering a single answer and with slow and composed steps, despite the difficulty caused by the erection more and more shamefully evident in his trousers, that he approaches Will, cancelling totally the physical distance between their bodies. 

« Are you aware of what you are doing, right, _William_? » He uses by design the full name to tease him, conscious of the erotical power that it as on him.

The right hand raises itself to rest itself around Will's hip, fingers that leave their red imprint on the fabric and press the flesh with the same significant force with which he starts to push against Will's pelvis. At the contact, totally required by both sides, a moan rides the crest of the sigh emit by Will that doesn't lose a moment to reciprocate in the same way, enclosing the strong hips of the lover with an arm in order to bring him closer. 

Will grabs Hannibal's lower lip between his teeth, biting it with violence. He continues to torture it in that way to prevent him from suffocating the armony of moans leaving his lips while he fastens his free hand on his nape. He immerses his red fingers in the locks less in order than usual, due to the previous struggle with the victim, and pulls them slightly. At that movement, Hannibal secures the other hand on Will's hips in order to increase the aherence with the primal instinct to restore the original unity between their bodies.

When thier mouths part with a last, obscene and wet sound, they both are rather hard. 

« Hannibal be explicit on what you desire. »

If only he had been in usual conditions, Hannibal would have fooled in a heartbeat the simple technique, based only on vulnerability and seduction, that Will is carrying out. 

But Will is the unique singularity present in a banally conformed world, a perfect combination of the things unreachably divine and the essentially human. Will is an unpredictable, brilliant, almost deprived of inner conflicts being that executes reasonably active evil in lieu of passive good, realizing he has taken the side of the devil from the first moment this being has tempted him.

When it comes to Will, Hannibal can, among other things, submit to his power, in case his own passion is reciprocated. Or, if refused, he can surrend himself to the police, giving up his loved freedom. Or even, if either of these cases happens at the same time, he can allow Will to throw both of them down a cliff, leaving the decision of their destiny to the Fate and the circumstances.

« I want you inside me, Will. » The voice, not anymore calm and controlled but hoarse because of the pleasure, fills the bedroom of the powerful French criminal with who they entered in contact months ago, the house, the whole city.

« Are you asking me to fuck you, or you want me to tie you to the bed and dissect you as I have just done with him? » Will pauses only to lick his lips, he brushes up against Hannibal one last time and « It would turn you on, right? » finishes, vaguely aroused whereas somebody with a moral compass would have been repulsed or however just a bit shaken. 

« Yes, Will. One day we could even experiment both at the same time. » 

In a context like that, Hannibal realizes, Will would be undoubtely admirable and terrible as, according to the Homeric representation, was Apollo, god of the Sun and of Beauty and yet disseminator of death and destruction. The expression on his face, would be analogue of the one had during the disembowelement of the victim, except that it would have over that special something capable of making personal and charged with tenderness every moment in which they wounded each other, leaving signs similar to scalding burns marks. Screwing him without mercy and sweetness while reaching the open wound with hands first, and then lips, it would make him feel a mystical duality of pleasure and pain, that sense of comprehension he has always craved.

He forbids himself to go any further. Concluding all so soon is not his main priority at all.

« The penetration that I am requiring now is uniquely sexual. » In the past, a line like that would certainly have embarassed Will, bringing out his sence of decency. On the contrary, now that his becoming is accomplished, Hannibal only sees Will swallowing hard, full of the desire to vent that unsatisfied sexual energy as soon as possibile. Evidently, the inadequacy of the situation is not helpful at all.

« First we need to deal with him. » 

The look on the face the victim, when they both meet it, is full of terror and dismay for her fate and the intentions of the unusual couple. It makes them smile. Hannibal sends a rapid glance at Will, communicating him the intention of bringing immediately the curtain down. 

So he moves away and the air, always more devoid of the heat of passion emanated by Will's body, appears fresh, cold, gelid as the Cocitus, the enormous frozen lake on the bottom of Hell. It almost hurts, but he decides to ignore it.

He leans over the tied body and extracts the liver that goes to place in the appropriate trasporter proffered by his lover. Looking the prey straight in the eye, he clamps both of his own strong and big hands round his neck, right where the carotid arteries are located. The pressure applied is adequate to induce a loss of consciouness and lasting enough to deprive totally the heart of oxygen. Within about ten seconds, at the moment that the men expires with a last strangled sound, Hannibal moves the corpse on the left side of the blood-soaked mattress, preventing it from being in their way again. 

It is not compulsory to deal further with him. Not now that he hasn't any opportunity to free himself from the ropes and so excape. Not now that both of them have far more pressing physical needs to satiate.

Then he comes back to Will that certainly hasn't taken his eyes off him and cups Will's face in his hands with a sweetness that is poles apart from the previous violence and destruction.  
Only then their mouths meet again. It cannot be defined a kiss: there are only tongues groping hungrily and obscenely each other and teeths that clasp lips with insistence and passion, loud moans filling each's mouth and quickened breaths, their lungs.

Will raises his hand to the collar of Hannibal's shirt and starts undoing every button, holding himself back from ripping the garment off. Meanwhile Hannibal works with the belt of the other's trousers, freeing the erection painfully constrained in a such strong grip.

Both clothes fall to the ground, under the disjointed action of their experienced hands and the same destiny quickly lies with all the other ones.

Hannibal surrends to the light pressure applied by Will on his shoulders, letting himself fall on the bed, clearly undisturbed by the body a few centimeters away as much as by the blood in which both plunge themselves in, becoming one with it. 

So Will fills the other's belly with wet kisses without graces, opening his reddened lips, on that hot skin revealed to him as the divine message to a prophet during the ecstasy, such is the mystic communion ignited by the fire of their love. Only a few seconds and Will has lifted himself in order to caress the other's body with his right hand. He arrives at his mouth.

Understanding immediately his intentions, Hannibal doesn't waste a moment of time ad clasps his lips around the tip of the index and the middle finger – they are warm, he would like to have them inside him and to thighten around them – that are pressed lightly against them. He starts sucking slowly and slides his tongue among the whole lenght of Will's fingers, replacing the effect of the absent lube and cleaning them from the remaining blood.

When Will wavers on adding a third finger or not, Hannibal resolutely prevents him with a significative look. Only because this time Will is personally too turned on to further tease Hannibal and give him the exact opposite of what he desires, he carries the order out, freeing promptly his mouth. 

The former-profiler's fingers are slow but a little bit impatient when they open him, one and shortly after the other one, and Hannibal relaxes on the bed and spreads out his legs, waiting for whatever sign from his personal deity. Through an one, slow, gesture, they are inclused till the knuckle. They come out and in again, striking every sensitive point and whereas the rythme to which he fucks him becomes faster, Hannibal moves his hips to meet his fingers, on his lips the umpteenth moan that carries Will's name.

If in a controlling position he is perfectly capable of mantaining himself rather silent and cool and collected, even when he stimulates Will for hours and denies him the orgasm everytime he runs along his limit; in the inverse situation a person like him as well is reduced to a heap of moans and gasps. Especially if the only one that could hear them is a mere corpse. Maybe it's for this reason that they both appreciate so much that dynamic. 

« You know Will, I have the impression that the presence of the corpse of the man we have killed almost excites you as seeing me this submissive. »

Wll can't blame him. Hannibal has noticed very well his various glances to the dead man next to who they are having sex as the effects on Will's body. The choice of verbalizing it, then, is only due to the will of exchanging all the provocations previously received, to the curiosity of seeing him react.

The threads of his own thoughts, extremely difficult to lose, are cut off, together with his breath as soon as the fingers are extracted abruptly from his own body, leaving behind a stinging sensation not too unpleasant. 

« Almost. » Will repeats, cutting off him sharply. Behind that secure tone and that pleased expression, Hannibal can't ignore a real, fragile concern on having given enough preparation as well as the doubt on whether his passion could have been mistaken for real violence. For some reason, a sensation of affectionate heat spreads chest height.

« Will. » He calls him, wiping out his worries. He's sure his lover will understand what he is requiring with such an urgency and a desperation. « Please. »

So Will sticks his own dick into Hannibal in one go as the blade with which he had proposed to dissect him would have done. He induces in the act that, however ordinary and mundane it may seem in everybody's eyes, doesn't banalize their relationship but it's not even its basis. The true generating principle and fundamental element is murder, exquisite construct of the human brain that allows them to obtain the maximum satisfaction and represents somewhat their way to make love to each other and express their mutual feelings. 

If made shared experience, it allows their similar and distinct entities to connect like never before and to devour each other, reaching the total interpenetration. It's exactly this obsessive and destructive character that causes their bond to be unique and totally different from the love affairs had with Bedelia or Molly that were not enough for two people like them. 

However, as death needs life to exist and every other thing its respective opposite, so does the impulse of the destruction, tending to make every matter return at its inorganic state, that needs the life drive, the pure libido. Moreover sex, pleasure aside, satiates Hannibal's intrinsic craving to possess Will in the most absolute way, having him inside himself and also the inverse one to be possessed and had. It's a bit like chosing to eat his own sister Mischa in order to bring a part of her with him for the rest of his own life.

At the present time, there isn't anymore a distinction between sex and death, the fine line separating them cancels itself out in front of their bodies covered with blood moving frenetically, in a perfect contrast with the static one of the corpse. In front of the memories of the murder they have just accomplished that Hannibal whispers in Will's ear and the literary allusions enlightened by Will, alternating themselves with their obscene groans. 

The antithesis of the two concepts reaches the osmosis in the same way that, in the surrounding air, the smells of blood and death blend themselves with the sex one. It's balance, maximum beauty and beatitude. 

It's that what Hannibal thinks while abandoning himself to Will, head thrown back because of the inability to hold his stare as only on a few other occasions happened. 

The following istant, Will comes inside him and fills him and, after a couple of more violent pushes, even Hannibal, with Will's hands around his neck, reaches the climax and stains both of their abdomens. 

Hannibal wraps Will's back up with one of his arms before he has to let him, holding him back for another moment. With the other hand, he goes to caress sweetly his curls. Will kisses him on his chest without a tiny hint of malice. 

« Before we clean up this mess, I have one last thing I want to tell you ... » Will breaks the silence, once their bodies have parted and they now face each other, mirroring their relatives postures. 

« Next time, I want our prey to be alive while we're doing it. » He adds, giving Hannibal that look that makes every fiber of his being shake.

Hannibal doesn't answer but simply brings their lips into contact again and goes up on Will.


End file.
